


Kawara Ryouta

by italianhamster



Category: Hatoful Kareshi | Hatoful Boyfriend
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 15:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15561096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/italianhamster/pseuds/italianhamster
Summary: Ryouta reflects on his life, mainly his relationship with his parents and their relationship with each other. It's kind of humanized, but it can mostly be read either way. Spoilers for Ryouta's route and BBL.





	Kawara Ryouta

I don’t remember much about my childhood. I always heard I was a very upbeat kid, carefree and living in my own world. Ha, I guess some things don’t change much. Although you guys would never admit it, I know I wasn’t planned. You were high school sweethearts, and you got married when you found out you were pregnant with me. It’s okay. I know, and it’s okay.

My parents struggled when I was young. Father was finishing medical school, and my mom worked at a store by our home. Money was scarce, and at times food was as well. They would constantly tell me I wasn’t a burden, but I know that it was a very difficult time for them. Even still, they always smiled when they were around me. Looking back, I’m not sure how we made it. It was by some miracle, it felt like, that father found a job as a biologist for a research company. He was apparently very smart, as it wasn’t long before he climbed up the ladder and became head of his division.

I don’t know much about my father. All I have are fading memories and stories that were told to me. Many say that I’m a lot like him. I don’t know what to say to that. I don’t harbor negative feelings for him. I can’t. I can’t dislike someone I don’t even know.

I remember when he became division head. That’s when the work started to pile, I guess. He would rarely come home anymore, spending months at a time in the lab. It wasn’t even a year in before he forgot my birthday for the first time. I remember the phone calls. On one end was my mom, so strong, so kind, so brave. On the opposite end was a light and carefree voice apologizing again, “I’m sorry honey; I wish I could be there, I really do, but the lab is so busy this time of year. I’ll be there next time; I promise. I love you guys.”

The lab was busy every time of year. There were so many promises, so many apologies. I remember the way my mom would stand there, her hand tight on the phone. “I understand… okay… we love you too.” For years I didn’t understand the sadness in her voice. I didn’t understand the pain that kept her awake, or the tears she tried to wash into the night.

I understand it now. Father’s job was very important. It’s what kept us off of the streets. It’s the reason why we could have dinner every night, and nice clothes, and warm beds. I don’t know how much he made, but it was enough for my mom to quit her job, and she had to in order to raise me full time.

I never liked asking mom about him. I knew that it hurt her. She never spoke badly of him. She would tell me about how demanding his job is, and how he’s with us even if he’s gone a lot. She would tell me that he loves me every day. He would tell me that he loves me maybe a couple times a year. I once asked if we could visit him at work. I never got an answer. It was not until a decade later that I would find out the true nature of my father’s work.

My mom was never very healthy. I think part of the reason father worked so much was to find a cure for her sickness. She had always been so tired, so fatigued, and her conditions were only getting worse. But even then, she always put me first. I remember one day when her sickness was especially bad. It was in the first time that father was gone for an extended period of time. She couldn’t watch me, and I fell. She constantly apologized for that, but I feel that I’m the one who should be apologizing. If it weren’t for me, my parents may have had an actual marriage. Instead they walked on shells, even when the egg cracked long ago. I remember my mom telling me how she hates it when I blame myself, so I suppose I should apologize for that too.

I remember one year father came home for my birthday. I was turning six. My friends and I were sitting at the table, and he simply waltzed in, like there was nothing to it. I didn’t recognize him. I remember the look on mom’s face. I remember his smile, and the hug he gave her. She looked frozen in his arms, and I coundn’t understand why this stranger showed up to my party and was hugging my mom. He whispered something to her, I couldn’t tell what it was, but I did recognize the voice. It was the same voice that I heard from the phone. He approached me and gave me a hug. I didn’t know what to do. He talked to me as if he had seen me just yesterday. The last time I saw him was Christmas. My birthday is December 3rd. He gave me a present, he talked to me, he played with me for the entire day. It was like we were a real family. It was one of the best days of my life. The next morning I asked my mom where he was. I can still hear the hollowness in her words. “The lab.”

One day when I came home from school, I saw my parents sitting at the kitchen table. I was paralyzed. I had never seen them sat at the table together like that until that day. They were holding hands. When I walked in, neither of them turned toward me. They were completely focused on each other. That was the second of only three times that that has ever happened. I ran to my mom and hugged her tightly. I was scared. Father was never home; why is he here? It wasn’t a special occasion of any kind, just an ordinary day. I didn’t know what was going on, so I just clung onto her. I wouldn’t let go, even when she was tugging at me. If I was in my mom’s arms, nothing bad could happen.

Then I felt two hands on my waist. “Come on Ryouta.” That voice. I would never be able to find him in a crowd, but I could pick out my father’s voice in a sea of thousands. I felt him lift me, pulling me from the warmth of her embrace. I wanted to cry, and scream, and pry myself away. These hands, they were a stranger’s hands. This is the only time I remember being held by my father. It was strange, and it was weird. He was smiling, always smiling. That’s hardly all I can remember about him now.

“It’s okay Ryouta.” That was my mom speaking into my ear. I instantly relaxed. I felt her hand in my hair, I’ve always loved that. It stayed like that for a while. Him holding me while she ran her hand through my hair. My father’s embrace, it was so comforting, so strong. I didn’t want to cry.

He set me down, and she took her seat while he sat in the guest chair, though maybe it was originally supposed to be his. “Ryouta,” her words came out shaky, “this isn’t going to be easy, and you probably won’t fully understand.” Tears fell from her eyes. This was the first time I ever saw my mom cry.

Father held her and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sick Ryouta, and there’s a good chance that I’ll never get better.” His eyes were hollow and distant. “I’m going to be gone soon, and you won’t see me for a very, very long time. I’ll be a just memory, if even that.” The last part, I felt, was said mainly to himself. It was so unusual. Mom was crying, and father was comforting her. I didn’t understand. Father was always gone, why was this a big deal?

His phone rang. “Hello, it’s Dr. Kawara.” It was a work call. It was always a work call. I looked at my mom, the tears on her face were drying. I remember when he first started to take long leaves for work, she would always have a glimmer of hope on her face. But by then she knew better. It was so quiet, the only thing heard in the room was his conversation.

“Sir, it’s urgent,” the caller said, “experiment 44181 is turning up amazing results. We need you here immediately.” The person on the other side, they sounded young.

“Hmm, I see,” he looked over at her. She lowered her head. “I’ll call you back Isa.”

“I’m –“

“Don’t. I’ve heard that enough times Ryuuji.” Ryuuji: she never called him that. “It seems important, so you should go. After all, you may not have that much time left with them.” Her voice was as sturdy as steel, if steel were made of paper. “We’ll talk when you get back, whenever that may be.”

I think he was going to say something, but she spoke again. “Ryouta,” I jumped at the mention of my name, “you can go watch cartoons, if you’d like.” I sprang up from my chair in excitement, and dashed to the living room. It was rare that I was allowed to watch cartoons before dinner like this.

After I turned the TV on, I saw them walk into the front room. I turned around on the couch. I would normally never ignore cartoons for something like my parents, but for some reason I did that time. I couldn’t tell what they were talking about, but from the looks on their faces, it was pretty serious. I had never seen either of them look so melancholy before. He had his hand on the door, and I was about to turn away. Then he kissed her. Then the door closed behind him. I only remember seeing her look out the window before I turned back to watch my cartoons.

In the summer of that year, we began visiting him in the hospital on the weekends. In the fall, it changed to everyday. His colleagues from work would visit him every so often. But there was one who visited him everyday, just like us. He was never in the room when we were, but I would see him in the halls all the time. The only things I really noticed were his eyes. They were purple, and they were colder each time I saw them.

I remember the day father died. It was a very beautiful autumn day, the first one all season. The leaves were absolutely gorgeous that day. We went to the hospital as we always did. But there was something different about this time. We were waiting for an elevator; the doors opened, and there he was. The guy who visited everyday like us. I could feel his eyes on me as we switched places. They felt so, so cold and completely devoid of life. The doors closed.

My mom stopped me right outside the door. “Listen to me Ryouta. Your dad isn’t going to make it past today.” I don’t know how she could’ve known that. “You’re strong, much stronger than I am,” I knew it was difficult for her not to cry. “I know you can handle this, but know that I’m here for you, we both are. No matter what happens, your father does love you. Remember that.” She gave me a kiss on the cheek, and we walked through the door.

I was never really able to recognize him, but by then he looked so gaunt, I don’t think anyone could have. I sat on one side of his bed, and mom sat on the other. He smiled, it was the most pained smile I had ever seen. He took my hand. “Ryouta, I’m sorry,” tears fell down his face, the only time I’ve ever seen my father cry. “I’m sorry I wasn’t the father you deserved. But look at you now, you don’t need me, you never needed me. You’re so young, yet you’re already a better man than I ever was.” His mouth was open like he was trying to laugh, but couldn’t. “I love you,” he cupped my cheek, “please son, I love you.”

He turned to my mom. They may have exchanged some words, I’m not sure, I couldn’t really focus on one thing. I remember hearing the machines that were connected to him. I thought they were pretty loud. My parents were again holding hands. I won’t ever forget the sight. It wasn’t like the first time when it was just unusual. It was so much more. It was so empty. I had never seen either of them look so empty. I sat still on the bed and watched as they held each other. We stayed like that for a while, until his hand dropped and the machines were silenced.  

The doctors came in and took him away. Mom cried. I didn’t know what to do. Father just died. I should be crying too, but I wasn’t. I couldn’t understand. If mom was crying, why wasn’t I? Mom, why are you crying? Don’t cry. I felt sad. I don’t like it when mom cries.

The funeral was a couple weeks later. I remember it being a beautiful day as well. It was surprisingly warm for the fall. A lot of people talked to me, a lot of them I didn’t know. All of father’s colleagues from work came. Apparently he was well liked there. When people spoke they said so many good things about him. Mom spoke about him. She said many good things about him too. I knew it was difficult for her. I could hear her practicing at home.

I stood next to my mom at the funeral. I could see everyone. I could even see the boy standing outside behind the gate. It was the same boy who would visit father in the hospital. I could tell from his eyes. I never looked at him for too long, his eyes scared me too much. But I knew he was there. Even after everyone left, even after mom and I left, he was there.

Not much changed after father’s death. It’s not like he was very present when he was alive anyway. The only thing was that mom’s condition was getting worse, but that was already happening. As soon as I could get a job, I got one, and then two, and then three. I had to work. Mom’s medication was expensive. I had to get her better.

Even with her declining health, mom always put me first. I tried to get her to relax, but she always had to make sure I was okay first. She would push herself to do house chores since her sickness wouldn’t let her leave. It was difficult, but I understood. My mom never wavered, never faltered. If there was something to be done, she would make sure it was done.

My mother: so strong, so kind, so brave.

But now you’re dead.

Father is dead. You are dead. Hiyoko is dead. And now I feel that I too am dead.

I’m sorry mom. I love you. I’m sorry.


End file.
